God’s Ghana Immersion Program

Have you ever gone to an intensive training program?  I have several times, starting with police academy and continuing on through multiple trainings associated with my career in that field—trainings that were both physically and mentally intense. Recently, I met a woman through painting a town (long story, but true) who has grown into a friend of mine.  Debbie is an RN and only just began a new job where she travels around a bit for a company reporting on medical things (okay, I don’t have a clue, but I know she’s good at it).  Before she began for realsie (can you believe spell check won’t accept that word? Real-sy?  Nope, no better…anyway…) she had to spend a week in North Carolina training and being tested on the computer software.  When I saw her the following week she was happily volunteering for Point Hope, spending five hours removing sheriff patches from the sleeves of the donated uniforms we are sending to Buduburam.  Deb said she was grateful she didn’t have to engage her brain to use a stitch remover as one week of this training had fried it!  We laughed, but I know what she’s saying—intense concentration for an extended period of time, not my idea of a fun date!  I have never been part of a language immersion program, but I have to imagine it’s very similar, only for a longer period of time. Not what I would envision as a relaxed, enjoyable, extended experience.

So, imagine my surprise to find myself sitting in the dark on a firm mattress (a piece of plywood might be as comfortable), unable to sleep because it is 9:45 p.m. at home even if it is 5:45 a.m. here in Ghana and I went to bed at 3 o’clock in the afternoon (or so my body clock is assuring me, even though my brain is trying rational arguments regarding what time zone I’m in).  I took part in a meeting earlier this Ghanaian evening where I received a crash course in all things refugee as it transpired in Buduburam.  Some of it I knew, much of it was new to me.  I sat processing the information, interjecting questions and evaluating how the new input affected, or should affect, the plans in place for Point Hope in Ghana among the Liberian refugees. 

In a few hours we will tour the camp, again.  Unlike the last time I was here, however, this time I am the Executive Director of Point Hope.  I will meet people whose names I would like to remember, I will see familiar faces from our last visit and greet them as people I have been praying for and I will be deeply in the middle of this month-long immersion program. This intensive program which asks the questions: How can Point Hope and its partners do the most good for the most people and how should we proceed to effect the blessings of change?

Dear God, I know You are here and have a purpose and plan.  I am still amazed You called me and Gerald (even though he was fighting it more than me!) to this place, to this time, to Your purpose.  Help us to see, to receive, to be able to visualize and verbalize Your plan.  Oh, and even though it is really hot here, can You please make sure my brain doesn’t get fried?

Here Comes the Rain, I Hear it Collecting

When last heard from I was wandering the corridors and concourses of Dallas-Ft. Worth.  It is with great pleasure I report the following:  I got a 10-20 (location) on the hotel,  found my flight to Nashville, secured a shuttle to the hotel, bummed various rides in the rains of Nashville, attended the art auction fund raiser for Point Hope, sold a couple of t-shirts and a few Buduburam Batik outfits, scored a Metro Police patch from J.R., the nice Nashville sergeant who stood out in the torrential downpour all evening into the night to keep the street closed for  the red-carpet event, had some delicious food (after we found a place that was open past 12:30 a.m.) in the same vicinity of the nightclub shooting that happened moments before we were left by the limo in the area, watched and cheered a crowd of approximately 20,000 wonderful people walk , hula-hoop, stroll, dance and otherwise ambulate in the breast cancer walk (note that I said watched, my feet were so swollen from standing for nine hours in heels that I haven’t worn for something close to 15 years that I was lucky to be standing at all—I will learn that it will take about 33 days, 7 hours and 11 minutes for my feet to return to normalcy, but who’s counting??), handed out Point Hope info cards at the walk, went to the Grand Ole Opry, sat in the pew on stage, talked to Diamond Rio about Point Hope and heard about Both Hands—one for the widows, one for the orphans (don’t want to spoon feed you, do the research—way cool!), watched Delilah have way too much fun as the guest announcer, sat on Porter Wagoner’s purple leather couch in his bedazzled green room, and caught a flight back home, limping all the way.  Oh yeah, one more thing—about the flight out of Nashville…

I was scheduled to leave at an hour I am certain no sane person would choose to wake for, so I made the rational decision to bump it out to later flight.  Of course, flying stand-by was the only option if I didn’t want to spend way more than I should for the pleasure of sleeping in, so I went for it!  The first flight was full, the second flight was full, but I went to the airport anyway, because the nice man on the phone assured me that there was one seat left on the third alternative leaving in the early afternoon.  The nice lady at the ticket counter assured me that the only hope I had for a seat was later in the evening, but once I mentioned the flight “phone man” had found, God blessed me by letting that be a flight she had overlooked and I had a ticket!  I boarded the flight and my seat was occupied.  I calmly mentioned (all those hours of praying between flight two and flight three paid off!) to the man sitting in my assigned spot that we seemed to have the same seat.  He handed me his boarding pass and explained that he and his wife had been given separated seating, so he wondered if I would be willing to take his seat.  Just as I started to say, “sure”, he told me he was assigned 4A…well, if he was going to force me to sit in First Class, who was I to argue?

Isn’t God funny?  His sense of humor sometimes catches me by surprise and yet delights me!!  I settled into seat 4A and accepted the water and glass (not plastic) receptacle filled with iced diet cola.  My feet were showing their appreciation to me for getting off of them by allowing the feeling to come back to my toes.  Life was good.  The man in 4B and I start talking and it turns out that he has been to Guatemala several times on mission serving trips.  I am supposed to be going there next year with my son and his Guatemalan wife, so I think, very cool.  What is it that he does there?  Oh, he helps build rainwater collection stations so the people he works with there can have safe, drinkable water.  So, to recap—on the way down to Nashville, God sits me next to a woman who partners in rainwater collection and on the way back to Seattle, God sits me next to a man who partners in rainwater collection.  Do you think He is trying to tell me something?  I love Him, I love being allowed to serve Him, I love that He loves me and I love that He would show His very organized plan in the midst of my unorganized life!!

If You Don't Know Where You're Going...any plane will get you there!

The nice lady seated next to me in the last row of the plane (seats 38 A and 38 B) probably thought I was a little touched in the head (i.e. crazy)!  I alternated between laughing out loud and crying silent single tears as I finally finished reading "The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real" by Neta Jackson.  It's the third book in a series of seven...so good! (Of course, I still have to find and read the last four in the series, but I am confident Neta will not disappoint!!)  At any rate, I was on my way, quite unexpectedly, to Nashville for a Gala Event--an art auction fundraiser for Point Hope.  I continued wiping the last traces of tears off of my cheeks, very surreptitiously, of course, as the plane landed and taxied down the runway.  The nice lady asked if I was remaining on the plane for the next leg of the journey.   I said, "No" and then, "Oh wait, I don't think so...where is this plane going?"  She told me it was continuing on to Baltimore.  I told her, "Definitely not, then.  I'm headed to Nashville, but I haven't had a chance to even look at my itinerary, so I have no idea which plane I'm catching, I just know it won't be this one." She graciously chuckled.

As we waited for rows 1 through 37 to get off so we could make our way up the aisle, there was opportunity for about a ten minute discussion.  During that time I told her about the reason for my trip and gave her a little information about Point Hope.  She was pretty excited and started to tell me about something her university is involved with...catching rainwater and turning it into drinking water.  She said she wished we had started this conversation sooner, gave me her card and asked me to get in touch when I got back to Seattle.  (I saw from the card that her school is the University of Washington...my Duck husband will needle me about this, but for Point Hope it will be worth it!)  I thought it was very nice of her to overlook my strange behavior and still be willing to assume we could have a normal, informative discussion.  I'm looking forward to it! 

Now, if only I can find a reader board, look for "Departures", note the Nashville flight number, time and location and then make my way through the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport concourses in a timely fashion (allotting time to stop at a Starbucks and purchase my customary "which city have I visited" coffee cup), all I will have to think about is...where in the world am I supposed to go after I actually arrive in Nashville?  Ah well, picky details...

GPS OPTIONAL

Okay, I’m going to confess it right here, lay myself open for everyone to know the truth and evaluate.  Please, friends, don’t judge too harshly.   Here it is… I don’t own a GPS!  Whew, relieved to get that off of my chest!!  How did this happen, you may ask?  Well, my car was not factory equipped with a GPS and I have not run out and purchased one, duh!  The last time I borrowed one to use, the fuse was blown on the cig lighter and so the GPS wouldn’t work—I took that as a clear sign I should remain low tech.

So, right now, as I am driving unfamiliar roads out of Puyallup, up north to Seattle, I mean East on 167, no, wait, 405 South, no, no,  taking the  I-5 North, looking for Exit #163 and the West Seattle Br….that’s gotta mean bridge, keep on driving…I can only trust the signs are leading me the right direction and that I haven’t taken a wrong turn.   As I get to each new signpost I am both relieved (that I am still on the right track) and hopeful (that the signs will continue to guide me to my ultimate destination).  Would this be easier with a GPS?  Probably so.  Trusting my instincts and watching for signs is not the most reliable way to get around.  I could have even looked at a paper map, mapquested the address, prepared myself for the drive…could have, but didn’t.  

Of course, all of this reminds me of what my friend Robben said when I told her God knew the answers to where I was headed in my new adventure, but He wasn’t sharing those answers with me as soon as I would like.  She said when she gives Kenneth (her GPS) the address she is driving to on the other side of town, he will tell her to drive straight for 2.3 miles and turn right on the next street.  Kenneth does not tell her the complete route.  He only tells her as much as she needs to get her to the next spot where he will give further direction.  If he gave her the entire route, it is likely that she would need to hear it repeated, anyway.  She concentrates on the immediate instructions, what she needs to hear at that moment to guide her to the next turn, the next road. 

 She reminded me that God tells me as much as I need to hear to guide me on this portion of my journey and when I get to the end of these instructions, He will be faithful to give me the next set of directions to move me further down the path to His and my ultimate goal.

Sure, there are other things I can do to figure out where I am headed.  I can set out on unfamiliar roads without being positive where I am going, trusting in myself, certain I will eventually head the right way and end up at the right spot.  I can look for the signs, pray I don’t miss any, “keep my eyes on the prize” and hope for the best.  I can even study the Map.  Unless I take it with me, however, and keep referring to it constantly, updating my status and my location, I won’t remember where I’m supposed to go.  I won’t remember all the twists and turns on the way…not unless Someone goes with me and gives me specific, immediate instructions, then revises those instructions for the next leg of the journey. Oh, wait!  That sounds, uhm, EXACTLY like a GPS.   I know I cannot trust myself to lead where I have not been, but I can always trust GPS (God’s Power Sustains)!  It all comes back to Him!

In the meantime, as I wind through the maze that is West Seattle, I have decided that although GPS is optional, the next car I get is gonna have one!!  

Bride's Room Revisited

I have been in some weird and awkward places.  I’m in another one.  Last night I settled in, alone, at a house intended for use as a retreat and event center, focusing primarily on weddings.   Yep, I slept in the Bride’s dressing room.  So appropriate for those of us who just completed the study, “Attending the Bride of Christ”, but I digress…

The advertisement for the location says it is decorated with stunning antiques, and is filled with rich character and charm.  Very true.  It is also filled with white candles and white flower bouquets and white candle stands and lovely wooden chairs with velveteen brocade seats.  Out back is “8+ wooded acres” of cedars.  Out front is a lovely fenced yard separating the house from the road.  The kitchen is stocked with dishes and a tea kettle, which made it nice this morning when I heated up some water to make some (delicate shudder) instant coffee to go with my cold cereal.  It kinda feels like being at a very fancy summer camp or a very solitary women’s (woman’s) retreat. 

I came here instead of sleeping on a sofa at the very busy house of my friend.  I thought I would miss the early morning hustle and bustle of getting a house full of children off to school and get a chance to sleep in.  I haven’t been sleeping well for a week or two as hacking up a lung all night long isn’t too restful.  At any rate, I got here in the dark of night and discovered that, although the adjoining powder room had electricity, the bedroom didn’t.  There was also no radio (forget television) in the room and for someone who is used to sleeping with background noise, but is now alone in a very dark, unfamiliar retreat center/house, that’s uncomfortable.  I scouted around and discovered a small stereo system in the kitchen around the corner. I found a station that plays contemporary Christian music and cranked up the volume…there!  All that was left to do was to go to sleep….but it was really dark and I don’t even have pepper spray with me, much less  my gun (anyone who has ever been a cop will wonder why…I have no concealed permit in this state), so I did the reasonable thing and turned the bathroom light on!  Why?  I have no idea.  I’m not afraid or paranoid of the dark.  I understand a bathroom light will not offer more protection than the locks on both doors accessing the house.  Still, it felt good and I was able to finish my daily reading (I’m in the book of Job).  I adjusted the mattress setting on the Sleep Number Bed control , fluffed the pillow and drifted off to sleep.

I woke up at 6:30 a.m., looked at my watch, told myself that sleeping in was not defined as waking up at any hour before 9 a.m. and went back to sleep—until just prior to 7:30 a.m. when the loud pounding on the other side of the wall from my head strangely woke me.  I wasn’t aware that when my friend mentioned the cement flooring still needed to be poured for the indoor chapel (converting the garage), that meant it was to be completed this morning.  To be fair, once I found her on the phone, she didn’t know either; I figure it’s just one more example of God’s sense of humor!  Anyway, the previous night I had stopped to get the aforementioned instant coffee, milk and cereal to have an easy breakfast.  I decided I should get up and get dressed (before some construction worker came in to use restroom or something—that’s the awkward part) and enjoy my leisurely breakfast before going out into the real world to find an internet connection and better phone reception. 

I had just poured the boiling water into my recycled Dutch Bros. cardboard coffee cup when I looked at the window and noticed a large truck backing into position outside the “chapel”. I opened the door and asked the guys if my vehicle was in their way.  The presumed crew leader said that he forgot he was going to ask me about that.  Turns out the rig, which I saw on closer inspection was a cement truck,  was going to be off-loading cement and I was about to be blocked in for about an hour to an hour and a half.  He asked me if I wanted to move immediately, but I had just poured the milk on my cereal and I saw no other space to park, so I said I could stay.  

A little over one hour into it, they faked me out when the truck left.  But it, or its twin, returned quickly, presumably with another load of concrete, and I was blocked in again.  I finished some writing I needed to do, polished off another cup of coffee, took a phone call (complete with static and dropped words), made a phone call (better reception that time, score!) and now, two and ½ hours later…the truck just drove off…I better move quick before it returns!